The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

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Well, by the end of three weeks everything was in pretty good shape. The
shirt was sent in early, in a pie, and every time a rat bit Jim he would get
up and write a little in his journal whilst the ink was fresh; the pens was
made, the inscriptions and so on was all carved on the grindstone; the
bed-leg was sawed in two, and we had et up the sawdust, and it give us a
most amazing stomach-ache. We reckoned we was all going to die, but didn’t.
It was the most undigestible sawdust I ever see; and Tom said the same. But
as I was saying, we’d got all the work done now, at last; and we was all
pretty much fagged out, too, but mainly Jim. The old man had wrote a couple
of times to the plantation below Orleans to come and get their runaway
nigger, but hadn’t got no answer, because there warn’t no such plantation;
so he allowed he would advertise Jim in the St. Louis and New Orleans
papers; and when he mentioned the St. Louis ones it give me the cold
shivers, and I see we hadn’t no time to lose. So Tom said, now for the
nonnamous letters.

Everything was in order by the end of three weeks. We sent the shirt in
early to Jim in a pie, and every time a rat bit him he would get up and
write a little in his journal while his ink was still fresh and dripping
from his body. The pens were made and the inscriptions were carved on the
grindstone. We sawed the bed leg in two, and we ate the sawdust, which gave
us an awful stomachache. We thought we were all going to die, but we didn’t.
It was the most undigestible sawdust I’d ever seen, and Tom said the same
thing. But as I was saying, we finally got all the work done, though we were
exhausted, especially Jim. The old man had written a couple times to the
plantation below New Olreans, asking them to come and get their runaway
n-----. He hadn’t received a reply, since the plantation didn’t exist. He
figured he would place an advertisement in the St. Louis and New Orleans
newspapers. When he mentioned the St. Louis newspapers to me, I got the cold
shivers. I saw that there wasn’t any time to lose, so Tom said that it was
now time for the anonymous letters.

“What’s them?” I says.

“What’re those?” I asked.

“Warnings to the people that something is up. Sometimes it’s done one way,
sometimes another. But there’s always somebody spying around that gives
notice to the governor of the castle. When Louis XVI. was going to light out
of the Tooleries a servant-girl done it. It’s a very good way, and so is the
nonnamous letters. We’ll use them both. And it’s usual for the prisoner’s
mother to change clothes with him, and she stays in, and he slides out in
her clothes. We’ll do that, too.”

“They’re warnings to the people that something’s up. There are different
ways to do it, but there’s always someone spying around that gives notice to
the governor of the castle. A servant girl gave the warning when Louis XVI
was going to escape from the

Tooleries. It’s a good method, and so are the anonymous letters. We’ll use
them both. And it’s standard for the prisoner’s mother to change clothes
with him. She remains locked up, and he escapes wearing her clothes. We’ll
do that too.”

“But looky here, Tom, what do we want to WARN anybody for that something’s
up? Let them find it out for themselves—it’s their lookout.”

“But look, Tom—why do we want to WARN anyone that something is up? Let
them find out on their own—it’s their job to be on the lookout.”

“Yes, I know; but you can’t depend on them. It’s the way they’ve acted
from the very start—left us to do EVERYTHING. They’re so confiding and
mullet-headed they don’t take notice of nothing at all. So if we don’t GIVE
them notice there won’t be nobody nor nothing to interfere with us, and so
after all our hard work and trouble this escape ’ll go off perfectly flat;
won’t amount to nothing—won’t be nothing TO it.”

“Yeah, I know, but you can’t depend on them. They’ve left us to do
EVERYTHING for them from the beginning. They’re so trusting and idiotic that
they haven’t noticed anything at all. If we don’t TELL them that something’s
going on, then no one will interfer with us. After all our hard work and
trouble, this escape will happen without a hitch and won’t mean anything at
all. There won’t be anything TO it.”

“Well, as for me, Tom, that’s the way I’d like.”

“Well, as for me, Tom, that’s the way I like it.”

“Shucks!” he says, and looked disgusted. So I says:

“Shoot!” he said, looking disgusted. So I said:

“But I ain’t going to make no complaint. Any way that suits you suits me.
What you going to do about the servant-girl?”

“But I’m not going to complain. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.
What are you going to do about the servant girl?”

“You’ll be her. You slide in, in the middle of the night, and hook that
yaller girl’s frock.”

“You can be the servant girl. You sneak in in the middle of the night and
steal that

“Well, then, you’ll have to stay in the cabin when me and Jim
leaves.”

“Well, then, you’ll have to stay in the cabin when Jim and I
leave.”

“Not much. I’ll stuff Jim’s clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed to
represent his mother in disguise, and Jim ’ll take the nigger woman’s gown
off of me and wear it, and we’ll all evade together. When a prisoner of
style escapes it’s called an evasion. It’s always called so when a king
escapes, f’rinstance. And the same with a king’s son; it don’t make no
difference whether he’s a natural one or an unnatural one.”

“Not really. I’ll stuff Jim’s clothes full of straw and lay it on his bed
to make it look like it’s his mother in disguise. And Jim will take the
n----- woman’s gown off of me and wear it, and we’ll all evade together.
When a prisoner of substance escapes it’s called evasion, you know. It’s
always called that when a king escapes, for example. Same goes for when a
king’s son tries to escape—it doesn’t make any difference whether he’s a
natural son or an unnatural one.”